we'll contain it for a while
by Pseudonymperson
Summary: This summer will be different, because of the awkward endings and hazy beginnings of something more than themselves, spelled out in the stars above the front porch.
1. Differences

This summer will be _different, _because of the awkward endings and the hazy beginnings of something more than themselves, spelled out against the stars above the front porch.

There are no plans, no rumpled maps or plane tickets, no last-minute phone calls or reservations to make. This is the closest to freedom that summer has to offer.

It will be different. Everyone grows up eventually, so now would be a good time to start.

* * *

**I need for it to be summer right now. **


	2. Nothing

"Nothing will happen."

"That's the beauty of nothing. It can be nothing and everything all at once."

"Very astute, Jane. Multum in parvo."

"I might grow into a philosopher this summer. Or a poet-"

"Okay, molting in perversion. I don't know what that means."

"Skye-"

"Sorry, Rosalind. Sorry, dad."

When did daddy become dad?

Martin Penderwick feels older. Maybe Skye does, too.

* * *

_Multum in parvo- Much in little._


	3. Mundane

The piano is broken, and Jeffrey is bored. He'd try to fix it himself, but every note he plays lately seems stubborn and restless. He thinks that he might take a break from piano playing for a while. And Jeffrey doesn't know how to tune a piano.

His mother would probably call someone to come and fix it if she knew. She's on vacation somewhere in Europe with Dexter, "working on their relationship". He's gotten a few pictures of the two with plastic smiles on their faces, and a _lot_ of ties.

He's not really home alone. After all, he still has Churchie and Cagney. He can last a month without any form of musical entertainment.

* * *

That guitar in his closet is starting to look really good, actually. He might give it a try.


	4. Sincerely

It's a week into summer, and Skye is bored. It might be a case of cabin fever, but she needs more than just sitting outside and reading about the holographic universe.

* * *

Jeffrey writes her a letter. It's summer and he doesn't have anything else to do besides eating and guitar playing, so he does it for the heck of it. Sure, he could call her or text her, but he thinks everyone could use a letter addressed to them.

He ends up writing letters to the rest of her family, even Hound, and sends them first class at the post office.

* * *

Three days later, he gets an invitation to visit the Penderwick household, signed by everyone, even Hound.

He accepts.


	5. Autobiographical

Wind. Rain. Sun. Moon. Stars.

Rain rhymes with Jane, and although she doesn't mind, she wants something else to rhyme with her name. Besides pain and plain. Plain had seemed fine the first time Jane had used it, reminding her of gently swaying fields of wheat and quaint pioneer cottages in colonial times, but after some thought, plain plains pained Jane.

Personal narratives also pained Jane. She'd been working on her autobiographical ballad for a week and four days now, and was getting nowhere. Jeffrey might help her, though. After all, he had inspired one of her best Sabrina Starr stories, so-

Could this go anywhere? If it doesn't, then she can write a young adult vampire romance novel. There's always that to fall back on.

* * *

** To everyone who's reviewed so far-**

**Thank you, Jane, Anonymous, and Applesandbananas. **


	6. Gone

Rosalind is done. That's it. Completely finished.

After the thousandth time that Batty and Ben had knocked on her door that day, she snapped. She'd done something terrible. She'd screamed at them to leave. _Screamed. _At Batty, her youngest sister, and Ben.

"Sorr- I mean-we're going. Bye."

Rosalind thinks that she hears a sniffle as the sound of footsteps fade away, and she wants to rush out the door and apologize and say that she's _so, so sorry_ and she'll never get angry at them again_. _But she doesn't. She stays in her room, trying to ignore the way that Asimov glares at her through the smudged glass of her window.


	7. Departure

The day that Jeffrey arrives is the day that Skye scrapes her knee in Quigley Woods running to greet him. She slows her pace considerably once he climbs out of the limousine, carrying a guitar case.

"Jeffrey, I thought I told you not to bring any instruments! I go through enough of Batty's music as it is. I don't need to hear any more!"

He shuffles guiltily and looks down before replying.

"Good to see you too, Skye. Uh-"

"I was joking, you moron. Did you honestly think I wouldn't let you bring any instruments? It's not like I'm running a dictatorship."

She rolls her eyes and laughs, and suddenly they're eleven years old again instead of fifteen and sixteen. Everything's okay.

"Let's go inside."

As Jeffrey passes her on his way to the front door, she steps around him and whispers that Batty isn't as bad at playing the piano as she thought she would be.


	8. News

_Excerpt from Jane Penderwick's interview with Jeffrey Tifton: June 23, 6:07 pm_

* * *

_Jane: What are some of my best qualities?_

_Jeffrey: Do you mean that in a spiritual way or a mental way?_

_Jane: Just some of my best qualities, if you please._

_Jeffrey: You're a really good writer. You have nice handwriting, too. Skye's handwriting is really slanted and kind of hard to read._

_Jane: Have I ever done something exceptionally wonderful?_

_Jeffrey: __(Pauses)_

_Skye: (From upstairs) Jeffrey!_

_Jeffrey: Sorry, Jane. I think I have to go now. Don't want to get killed on my first day here. (Chuckle)_

_Skye: Jeffrey Tifton!_

_Transcript ends._


	9. Hey

"Hello?"

"Hey, Rosie. What's up?"

"Can you come over?"

"Hold on a second."

The doorbell rings.

"Right here."

* * *

"I'm a horrible person."

"You're not horrible. I _promise_."

"I shouted at them."

"That doesn't make you a horrible person. It makes you human. You can't be perfect all the time. I mean, I think you're perfect, but it's not like-"

He stops, hearing her take in a shaking breath, and sees something new reflected in her eyes.

* * *

"Wait, Tommy? Close the door."

"Is this okay?"

"Yes."


	10. Seriously

"Words fall through me

And always fool me

And I can't react..."

Falling Slowly, _Once_

* * *

"Come on, Skye. This will work."

"No, it won't. We've tried this enough times to know that it won't."

"We haven't tried this yet. You have to take variables into account in trial and error, right?"

"This would be a good idea if you did it with anyone other than me. I have no musical ability at all. You should know that by now."

"It's just singing. Anyone can sing."

"Not well."

"It's not about talent, it's about fun."

"It's not going to be fun if I don't want to do it."

"It's almost my birthday."

"Your birthday isn't until August."

"Almost."

"Prove that this isn't going to be a complete failure."

"It won't be. I've got you."

"Nice try, but no."

"Stop laughing, Skye. I'm serious."

"No, you're not."

"What if I am?"


	11. Success

"You can't be serious."

"I already told you that I was."

"Look, this isn't going to work, okay?"

"Try."

They begin.

* * *

"It isn't that hard-"

"Okay, if it's not that hard, then why are you making me sing first?"

"Just sing anything."

"I don't know any songs."

"We'll work on that."

* * *

"Success."

"Shut up."


	12. Maybe

Jane is clairvoyant. She's also a hopeless romantic, a ruthless heartbreaker, an enchantress, a Narnian, and the long-lost daughter of the queen of Denmark.

She is all these things and more. The only problem is that she doesn't believe it.

Jane knows that she used to believe with all of her heart. She would wish on stars and look for four-leaf clovers everywhere. She would splash in puddles and dodge cracks in the sidewalk. She would fly.

_Second star to the right, then straight on 'til morning._

Maybe she took a wrong turn. Maybe she broke a mirror or walked under a ladder. Maybe something went wrong.

Maybe she started to grow up.


	13. Whispering

"Meanwhile there's so many things  
That I don't understand.  
I don't know why I tremble  
When you reach for my hand..."

- Say the Word, _Kerrigan and Lowdermilk_

* * *

Skye stays up late staring at the stars.

She sits on the roof and watches the night unfold before her, feeling something she can't decribe and _wanting _so badly to stop.

Most nights, everything is the impossible color of falling into the sea, and Skye doesn't care if anyone finds her there.

Her nights belong to no one but herself, and she intends to keep it that way.

* * *

Rosalind calls it desire. She kisses Tommy behind trees and in between doorways, chasing after the last splinters of childhood while she still can.


	14. Clear

The breeze is everything that Jane can't say, dreams of summer days and endless possibility, carried through the screen door as the sun begins to set.

She finds herself in the pages of her notebooks, going over passages and paragraphs until she's sure that she did write that, once upon a time.

She writes less frequently now, but the thoughts are still there, tucked under dirt and tree branches somewhere in the woods.

She doesn't cry anymore.

* * *

Jane takes photographs of everything and everyone, pins them to the walls on her side of the room, and looks under the bed for an invisible garden to plant.

She goes swimming and holds her breath before Batty starts to splash her.

When she washes her hair, she finds flecks of happiness caught on her eyelids that weren't there before, and she begins to laugh.


End file.
